What I Did for Love
by Orange-Green
Summary: Brittany's history told from her perspective. Rated M for adult themes. Brittana
1. Chapter 1

A/N – I'm a bit hesitant to post this as it's my first angsty Glee posting. And as a warning, it's dark; I'm in that kind of mood at the moment. It is rated M for adult themes including sexual abuse and self-harm. It's not particularly graphic, I rated it this way to be on the safe side. This chapter particularly deals with the sexual abuse. The story is from Brittany's point of view and at the time of her telling it, she's grown up quite a bit and isn't nearly as dense as the show portrays her to be. Personally I think there's more going on with her than the show shows anyway and I can't shake the thought that Brittany probably does have a bit of a tragic past in some way or another. This story is 95% complete and will only be three chapters at the most, depending on how I split it up. Anyway, enough from me.

What I did for Love

I've loved Santana Lopez since we were eight years old. Ever since my first day of school in Lima Ohio. My family had just moved into town and it was my first day of the third grade. Dave Karofsky, who would end up being quite the nuisance all throughout our middle and high school lives, had just made some comment about me being a "retard" or "stupid" or something. I can't really remember exactly.

What I do remember is seeing a small dark haired girl come swooping in and giving him a bloody nose. He ran crying for a teacher and she just stood there, hands on her hips and eyes all squinty like she wasn't the least bit afraid. And she wasn't. She was fierce. From then on, we were the best of friends and inseparable. I had my first real glimpse of love.

So when the teachers came to me and asked me if Santana had really punched Dave like he said, I said no. I said that I had punched him and he had just blamed Santana because he was embarrassed that I could beat him up. I was suspended on my first day of school. I think the teacher and principle had a suspicion that it was Santana, she was kind of known as a bit of a trouble maker, but I insisted that I was the one who punched chubby Dave.

Santana just stared as I took the blame. That afternoon as I was finally leaving detention and starting my walk home, she was waiting for me outside on the curb.

"You didn't have to do that." She said softly. "I hit him, I was happy to take the blame. He deserved to be hit for picking on you; you didn't do anything to him. I'll tell the principle if you want so you won't be in trouble."

I just shook my head and smiled. My parents wouldn't care if they even took the time to read the letter the principle had sent home with me. They probably wouldn't even notice if I was home from school the following day. They were very busy. They didn't have time to deal with me. I was slow. We all knew that. I accepted it and had grown used to the taunts and picking. When Santana stood up for me, it was not only refreshing but surprising and I remember wanting to keep this little spitfire with me for all time.

"I'm Brittany." I said softly, extending my hand.

She smiled and took my hand in hers. I swear to whatever God is out there, I felt sparks. "I'm Santana and we're gonna be best friends."

I knew right then that I loved her. And so, I took the punishment that she certainly did not deserve and gained a best friend. I protected her just as she had protected me. It's what you do for love.

xxxx

I was ten when my father first started coming into my room at night. He had lost his job and had taken to drinking heavily. My mother had picked up extra shifts at the hospital to help make ends meet.

I was not a smart child. But even I knew that daddies weren't supposed to treat daughters the way mine was treating me. At first I cried and told him he was hurting me but he didn't stop. I finally learned to close my eyes tightly and pretend I was somewhere, anywhere else. Often I would imagine I was running at the park with Santana and laughing. I could almost block him out completely, almost. Each time, after my father was finished with me, he would cry and tell me how sorry he was and how much he loved me. He begged me not to tell my mother because it would hurt her feelings. He said I had to be a good girl and not make my mother sad.

It's a terrible thing to be able to say I'm not certain if my mother would have really cared enough to stop my father. She had enough to deal with, now being responsible for the sole income for the family. The few times I tried to talk to her, about anything really, she just shoved past me and told me not to bother her. If I were too persistent, I would get a smack in the face to discourage me.

I began sleeping over at Santana's more and more during this time. Her parents were nice and Santana's bedroom was big and pretty. They seemed genuinely happy to have me around and her father never hurt me like mine did.

I never told Santana what went on at home. I was afraid she would look at me differently and she was the one person I needed more than anything. I needed her constant friendship and affection in my otherwise shattered childhood. Santana would have been upset and frightened and I didn't want that. In some ways, she was the innocent, naïve one, even with her tough demeanor, and I wasn't about to shatter that. I loved her.

xxxx

It was this same year, after my father discovered his new interest in me, that I was placed in classes for the "special" kids. I was never particularly good at school but around this time it became painfully obvious to all around me that I was falling further and further behind in classes. Lying awake at night listening for the doorknob to turn did not exactly help my focus during the day in school.

When a teacher called on me to answer a question, if I didn't know the answer, which I often didn't, I learned that if I just pretended and daydreamed like I did with my father that the teacher would eventually move on.

Sometimes I would voice what I was seeing in my head when I separated myself from what was going on around me. That always earned me snickers from the other students and funny looks from the teachers and the occasional sympathetic nod. Except from Santana, she would smile at me and if close enough, reach for my hand to give it a squeeze. It was as if I made perfect sense to her and everyone else around us were the crazy ones. I loved her even more for it.

Santana tried to help me with my schoolwork. When I was with her, I was able to grasp bits and pieces of the assignments but when it came time to perform in class, it was as if I had never seen the material before. The other kids would laugh at my low scores and crazy answers. Santana just smiled and held my hand. And occasionally stuck her foot out to trip whichever kid had laughed the loudest. And there was that one time when she stabbed Dave Karofsky with his own pencil.

xxxx

I was thirteen when Santana's parents split up. She had just turned fourteen and was her usual stoic, strong self. My own parents were even more absent than usual and I was mostly raising myself the best I could. My grandparents had passed away and left my father a rather large sum of money. It seemed all their troubles were over and my mother quit her job at the hospital. They traveled and seemed to forget they even had a daughter. I wouldn't see my parents for days, sometimes weeks, at a time and since I didn't know how to cook, I would be left to scrounge around for whatever was left in the house that wasn't stale or didn't require any real effort to prepare. But when they weren't home, my father wasn't coming into my room so it wasn't an entirely horrible existence. While I was alone, I at least had some peace. Those were my two choices really, being at peace in my loneliness, or being torn apart when my parents were around. It's no choice a young girl should ever have to make.

I couldn't tell Santana. She was upset about her father leaving and didn't need to worry about me being on my own as well. As far as she knew, my parents just left early and came home late or were off hidden in some other part of our house. I wasn't going hungry and crouching in my closet at night because I was afraid of being alone. And when my parents were actually home, the whippings didn't hurt and I didn't mind my father coming into my room at night. At least I tried to convince myself of that.

For Santana, I hid it all because she needed me. Her world was splitting apart because her father was leaving. She felt abandoned and she was afraid, her tough exterior cracking. And she needed me. So, I hid what was happening in my own home and when she scrambled up the tree and into my room at night crying, I just held her and let her cry, once again thankful my parents weren't home for my father to come knocking. I didn't tell her that I too was dying inside. I protected her and gave her a safe place to break. It's what you do for love.

xxxx

I realized I was in love with Santana when we were fifteen. I didn't just love her as a best friend; I was _in _love with her. I had been feeling strange things around her for a few months and I didn't quite understand what those feelings were. I only knew that I wanted to have closer contact than just linked pinkies and hugs. I had dreams of holding her close in my bed and making her feel safe and loved, even if I really had no idea what to do with her in my bed. I just wanted to love her, to make her feel loved. In return I would feel safe and loved, I was certain of it. Not like when my father slipped quietly into my room and shut the door.

Santana protected me and kept me safe at school, surely she would as well in my bedroom. Where my father left me feeling scared and empty, Santana would fill me and make me feel safe and complete. She was the only person who ever made me feel loved. This would be no different. Santana could save me and show me true love.

I was right. The night I finally had the nerve to touch her, she reciprocated fully. I was scared to death and I think she could tell. She had snuck into my room and was almost in tears as she recounted yet another hurtful encounter with her father and with Puck, both in one day. I knew Santana was insecure. I was the only one who knew. She was open with me and let me see the parts of her that no one else could. That's how I knew she loved me too.

So, as she sat on my bed, tears streaming down her cheeks and told me about the latest rejection from Puck and the harsh lecture from her father, I took her face in my trembling hands and kissed her. I poured all the love I had been hiding into that one kiss. I think she was stunned, I really do.

She looked up at me with wide eyes. When I whispered that I thought she was the most beautiful and wonderful person I had ever met, her eyes filled with fresh tears again. I thumbed her tears away as they slipped down her cheeks and leaned in to press my lips to hers again. She didn't stop me. In fact, she kissed me back. It was almost desperate the way Santana whimpered and pulled me closer. We were in fact exactly what the other needed.

I felt alive and I wanted to show her exactly how she made me feel. We spent the night awkwardly exploring each other's bodies for the first time. When we finally collapsed, sated and spent, I told her I loved her. That I was in love with her. She looked at me with an almost pained expression and I knew she couldn't voice the sentiment. I knew she returned it but that she just wasn't ready to tell me that she loved me too. I understood. So I just gathered her into my arms and held her. I stroked her hair as she began to cry again. I didn't press her to reply as I again told her that I loved her and that I always would. She didn't have to say it back; I knew she loved me. I didn't need to hear it. I wanted to hear it but I didn't need to. I let her revel in the safety of my love and commitment without having to make herself vulnerable in return.

And in the months to come when we would untangle ourselves from each other and the sheets and she would whisper that she loved me, my heart soared. Even if it was just between the two of us and no one else could ever know, it was enough for me. I would gladly take her private declarations and not push for anything more. It's what you do for love.

xxxx

I was sixteen when I confronted Santana about still fooling around with Puck. She and I had been together since that fateful night she showed up crying in my bedroom. We had tentatively made love and I had never felt so alive. I knew without a doubt that Santana loved me. But I also knew without a doubt that I was not enough for her. She needed acceptance and popularity.

While I didn't openly threaten that acceptance and popularity, I didn't exactly strengthen it either. Santana always had to be on guard to protect me and downplay anything off the wall I might say or do. I was a full time job. I knew I could be exhausting.

I tried to make it up to her when she would slip into my room at night. With my parents still absent most of the time, we made good use of having the house to ourselves. On the nights we spent together, I tried to show her just how much I appreciated her love and protection. And I know that she felt safe with me. I saw the side of her that no one else did, not even Puck. But I also understood that I wasn't enough to keep her happy and satisfied. I was too much really. But still not enough.

Santana needed the carefree and meaningless time with Puck. Only the longer it went on, the more I began to fear it wasn't so meaningless or carefree after all. I knew she didn't particularly love Puck. And he certainly didn't love her, not if the slew of panties he collected from every other attractive or semi attractive girl at McKinley could show. She was with him to protect her status and to also keep me safe. But I also knew she did actually enjoyed her time with him. That's the part I couldn't figure out, why? Did he make her feel more special than I did? I poured my heart and soul out to her and Puck just fucked her and asked her to lock the door on the way out. And she put up with it.

The worst part was that she thought I didn't know. She thought I was oblivious to her fling with Puck. I'm not certain if she thought I was just too dumb to realize what she was doing or if she thought I just didn't care. But she legitimately thought I had no idea that she was sleeping with Puck behind my back.

Santana would arrive in my room at night smelling like sex and sweat and Puck and she thought I didn't notice. I noticed; I always noticed. But I never said anything until one night when she showed up and I could tell she was upset and I was feeling oddly brave and proud of myself having warmed up a microwave dinner without starting a fire.

"What's wrong?" I asked. "Did you catch Puck with that volleyball player again?"

Her dark eyes widened and her jaw dropped. I smiled sadly and shrugged my shoulders.

"I know about you two." I whispered. "I'm not very smart Santana, but I'm not completely stupid. I know you've been sleeping with him. I've always known. And I understand. I'm a lot to take care of so I don't blame you for needing a break from me. But…he doesn't treat you right. He's even more stupid than me if he doesn't realize how perfect you are. He'll never find anyone more wonderful or amazing. But he keeps looking. And you don't stop him. I understand San; I know you don't think you deserve someone's commitment, maybe because your dad left. But you do. Puck is an idiot. And he doesn't deserve you. But I understand. I do. I understand why you go back to him. You have to keep us safe. And you don't think you deserve better."

My speech ended in a whisper with my eyes staring at the carpet between my feet. She reached a hand and lifted my chin to meet her gaze. She gave me a watery smile before scooting in closer to me.

"You're not stupid Britt." She said softly. "You're my best friend. And you know I love you. I just…I need more. I need Puck. I need him if for no other reason than to keep us both safe. If anything happened to you…I'd never forgive myself Brittany. I have to be with Puck to protect us both. We're the top couple in this school. No one would dare mess with me and in return, no one will dare mess with you. I'm doing this for you! You understand, don't you Britt?"

I suddenly felt my own tears pooling. I had hoped that once I confronted her with her behavior of running around with Puck behind my back that Santana would beg my forgiveness and declare her undying love for me. But I meant what I said; I truly did understand why she was with Puck, her image and my protection. Santana and I weren't really even a couple so I had no right to question her. Not really.

I could tell my silence was beginning to frighten her.

"Please, B. Say something. Tell me you do understand. Brittany, look at me please!" Santana cried. "Brittany, tell me you still love me, please!"

I looked at her. And I knew without a doubt I could tell her that I still loved her. And I did, I loved her. Even knowing what she was doing with Puck and sometimes Matt and that baseball player I can never remember the name of, I loved her and would do anything for her. I could tell her I loved her but it would mean more if I showed her.

So, I kissed her. I kissed her and held her tightly as she clung to me even more desperately than our first time together. I can't find the words to describe how much I loved hearing my name on her lips as she climaxed. Not Puck, or Matt, or Mr. Baseball what's his face, my name.

And so, as I pulled the blankets around us and held her close, I knew I would continue to take her back no matter whom she slept with. As long as she came back to me, that was all that mattered. I knew she was protecting me from the vicious high school hierarchy. I appreciated it, I really did. And I pretended that my heart didn't break every time I saw them together in the halls or every time she scampered into my window with the smell of him all over her. It's what you do for love.

xxxx

It was that same year, just a month later actually, when I decided to give Santana's lifestyle a try. Oh, I knew Santana was the only love for me but if she was having sex and enjoying it, why couldn't I? After all, sometimes sex was fun; well sex with Santana was fun, so surely it could be with a guy as well.

I decided to talk this over with Santana and for the first time, I couldn't exactly place the look that crossed her face. She wasn't happy but I think she understood that if she got to be with other people then it was only fair that I did too, but only with guys that she deemed "ok". The only two guys who qualified were Mike Chang, who is without a doubt the nicest and sweetest guy on the planet, and Kurt Hummel who is well…gay, so perfectly safe. That little romance was short lived to say the least. And Mike was nice but I think Santana knew I could never fall in love with him and that secretly he had a thing for Tina. I think that's why she picked those two for my chosen mates.

Santana still had Puck and that one time with Finn but we always came back to each other. I'm not exactly sure how I got the tramp label when I had only really had sex, voluntary sex, with Santana and Mike but it helped keep rumors about the two of us down so I didn't complain. The make out lists were circulating but that was mostly for fun, I didn't sleep with them. But the list also helped keep rumors down so again, I didn't complain. I didn't like it but I didn't complain. I allowed it for Santana.

xxxx

I've never been particularly smart. Especially not in things like school, or books, or words really. But I'm not stupid either. It just takes me a little longer to grasp things and when I do finally grasp them, sometimes I just see them a little differently. And anytime I voice what I see, I'm rewarded with snickers and eye rolling.

But even so, I know Santana. I get her. She may be the only thing in this world that I do get completely, just another reason I'm convinced we were made for each other. And because I get her, I can tell when she's afraid or upset and when she's trying to hide it from the rest of the world. But she doesn't hide it from me and I think she knows that. So when Santana was clenching her jaw slightly with her brow furrowed, I knew she was upset. To anyone else, she just looked like her usual hard self. But I saw the way her left eye twitched and her breath was just slightly shaky.

I knew she was upset with me for letting the nature of our relationship slip to some of the Glee members. She didn't yell or scold me. She just sighed and I could tell she was already plotting how to downplay the situation and keep the rumor mill from flourishing. Sectionals were coming up, surely that was more important than the nature of our relationship that I had let slip.

As it turned out, it wasn't one of the Glee kids we had to worry about. They kept quiet about it. Instead, it was Dave Karofsky who threatened our safety and position at the top of the heap. And he only found out because I was begging Santana's forgiveness in the hallway again after school. She hadn't said anything about it all day and I was starting to worry. I don't know what he was doing hanging out in the halls anyway; he was supposed to be at hockey practice already.

As soon as the words were out of my mouth, Santana's eyes went wide and I heard a locker slam behind us. Karofsky was watching us with a strange look on his face. He's always had a thing for Santana but she wouldn't even give him the time of day. And now, he had this juicy information to hold over our heads and I could tell the tough front she was putting up in front of him was just that, a front.

Karofsky leered at us as he sauntered up to us. "Ladies," he said with a smirk. "I never figured you for dykes. Does Puckerman know about this? Not quite the stud he thinks he is huh?"

Santana's signature smirk was in place and she took a step in front of me, positioning me safely behind her. Karofsky laughed and stepped even closer to her to the point they were mere inches apart. From my position behind her I saw her jaw muscles clenching again.

"I don't know what the fuck you're talking about or what you think you heard…"

"Oh don't play with me. You and I both know what your little girlfriend here let slip." Karofsky interrupted. Santana hated being interrupted. "And now that I think about it, it's really pretty obvious. I'm surprised I didn't see sooner. Seems Hummel isn't the only homo around here after all."

Santana rolled her eyes. "Please, who's going to believe you over us? In case you've forgotten, I am kind of head bitch around here and what I say goes. And you are dangerously close to taking top place on my list meathead."

Karofsky laughed and glanced over Santana's shoulder at me before returning his gaze to her. "And just how many people do you think are going to have to come up to genius here and ask her before she forgets what you've told her to say and spills it all over again?"

Unfortunately he did have a point. My memory had never been my strong point and Santana and I both knew it. I saw her jaw muscles clenching and unclenching again. Karofsky took our silence as a sign to continue.

"I think we can probably come up with some sort of an arrangement though if you want to keep this quiet." He dropped his eyes to Santana's chest and licked his lips. "Otherwise, be ready to come out of the closet…dyke."

Santana's shoulders slumped just slightly but she kept her head held high. "And just what kind of an _arrangement_ did you have in mind?" She scoffed as she spit his word choice back at him.

The sight of Karofsky raking his eyes over Santana made my stomach roil. "You're going to be my bitch Lopez. And if you satisfy me, I won't make your girlfriend join in."

Santana visibly stiffened. "You're not going to touch her. This is between you and me Karofsky. Besides…" she leaned in closer to him, a menacing scowl on her face. "I don't think you can handle me, let alone both of us. Now get out of my face."

"Tomorrow, after your little glee club, meet me in the boys locker room." Karofsky said with a smirk. "If you're not there, I can personally guarantee this whole school will know all about your butchness. And if you think Hummel has reason to bitch and moan, just wait until I'm finished with your girl."

We stood silently as Karofsky sauntered down the hallway laughing, Santana still positioned in front of me.

"San…" I said weakly.

"No." She cut me off with a raised hand and wouldn't meet my eye. "Not now. Let's just get out of here."

We silently walked out to her car. It became painfully obvious that she was not driving us back to her house but to mine.

"I'm so sorry Santana." I whispered. "Say something, please."

Santana exhaled as if she was exhausted and had the weight of the world on her shoulders. "I'll take care of it B. Don't worry. He won't tell anyone, I'll make sure of it."

My eyes widened and I felt my mouth go dry. "But…but you don't have to!" I cried. "Why not just let him say what he wants? Would it be so bad to finally not have to hide and wait until no one is around? I don't want to hide how I feel about you San. Maybe this is a good thing!"

"Damn it Brittany!" Santana slammed her hands against the steering wheel causing me to jump. "Of course this is bad! I've worked too hard to get us to the top to let Karofsky ruin it for us. We can't be seen as dykes Brittany. You've seen what happens to Kurt every single day! I can't let that happen. To me or to you, I won't! I'll take care of things, just like I always do."

I slumped back into my seat as we neared my house. "I'm sorry San. I just wasn't thinking. I didn't mean to…"

"You never mean to B." Santana said, almost coldly. "You never mean any of your fuck ups. Now just let me fix it like I always do and lets just stop talking about it."

The car rolled to a stop in my driveway and my stomach lurched again when I saw my father's car parked there. It had been weeks since I'd seen him so I was fairly certain he would be paying me a visit later in my bedroom. I desperately wanted Santana to take me back to her house.

"San…"

"Please get out Brittany. I just need some time alone to think."

My insides froze at hearing that and I nodded and silently slipped out of the car. I heard her speeding away before I had even made it up the front porch steps.

Later that night, after my father had come in and shut my door and told me how he'd missed me, after he had his fill and left again, I got a text from Santana. I was just cleaning myself up when I heard my phone vibrate.

_Hey B. Sorry I got so upset. U Ok? Forgive me?_

I stared at the phone for a solid two minutes before I could even force my brain to work up a response. No, I wasn't ok. Santana and I had been "outed" at school, which I didn't understand how it could be a bad thing. She had gotten mad at me and didn't want to be around me. And my father…well, he was a little overzealous and now I was feeling rather sore so no, I was not ok.

_Of course I forgive you. I'm sorry too._

Not thirty seconds later Santana responded. _Want me to come over?_

I did. But I also didn't. I never let Santana come over when my father was home even though I didn't think he would come in my room if she were here. He wouldn't dare to risk someone finding out he wasn't the upstanding guy people thought. I didn't think he would bother me again that night but I couldn't be sure. If he ever did come in and try to hurt Santana I wouldn't be able to live with myself.

_No, it's ok. I'm just going to sleep._

I closed my phone and tossed it aside before waiting for a response. I was afraid she would try to convince me to let her come over or tell me she was coming anyway. I shouldn't have worried. The text came a minute or so later and I tried to ignore it, I really did. But it was Santana and I could never ignore Santana.

_Ok then. Sleep well. I'll pick u up in the morning. Love u._

I felt tears pooling in my eyes as I quickly responded that I loved her too. I did. I loved her and I hated that I had gotten her into this mess with Karofsky because of my stupidity. Why couldn't I have just kept my mouth shut like she always told me to? I knew I had to think of some way to get her out of this mess. I couldn't let her go through with this. I knew the feeling of having unwanted hands touching me and I refused to allow her to ever feel that. I loved her too much.

xxxx

The following day was the longest of my life, I was certain of it. Santana picked me up the same time as always and I slipped silently into her car. If she noticed that I was moving stiffly from the visit from my father, she didn't mention it. She did reach and squeeze my hand as we drove. I finally met her gaze and she smiled at me. I think she was trying to encourage me that everything would actually work out just fine. I tried to smile back but from the look in her eye, I knew the smile didn't really convince her.

The day passed somewhat in a blur, even if it was a slow one. I moped through the halls and didn't even try to pay attention in class. Santana however kept her tough exterior and acted as if nothing was wrong. She shoved a freshman out of our way when I almost tripped over him. She led me to all my classes since I couldn't seem to get my head on right to figure out the right direction.

Even in Glee I was abnormally still. I loved Glee even if I was afraid to admit it. Dancing has always been freeing for me and the music just flowed through me. But I couldn't summon the energy or the interest. The other kids just gave me questioning looks and Santana glared at them in a dare to cross me. I couldn't believe how calm and normal she seemed knowing what was coming as soon as Glee ended.

While I was outwardly even more dazed and confused than normal, inside I had been thinking and planning all day. Thinking and trying to find my way to class just did not mix so I was content to allow Santana to guide me. Finally Glee came to an end.

When I saw Santana slowly packing her things and falling far behind the others on the way out, I finally saw just how nervous she was about meeting Karofsky. Santana should have been an actress. The calm show she put on all day was deserving of one of those shiny gold statue awards, you know, the naked guy or the bird, or even that horn looking thing. She was terrified and I was the only one who could see it. And I was immediately positive I was doing the right thing.

"San?" I called softly. She turned and seemed surprised to find we were alone in the room.

"Yeah B?" She called with a small smile.

I stepped closer to her and reached out my pinky for her to link. She glanced to the door but then quickly moved closer to me. I met her halfway and instead of linking hands, I threw my arms around her. I can't say for certain, but I think I heard a soft sob escape her throat as she hugged me back. Maybe it was just my imagination.

I inched us closer to the empty storage room where the plastic chairs were kept. She noticed we were moving and she pulled back slightly.

"Britt, no. You know I have to go meet Karofsky."

"I know!" I cried desperately. "I know you do. I just want to give you something to think about so you don't have to be thinking about him. I want you to remember me and that I love you."

The desperation was clear in my voice and on my face and she nodded as she allowed me to pull her into the empty closet. As soon as we were inside, I kissed her fiercely. I did want her to remember my kiss. We were both a little breathless when we finally separated.

"B," she said hoarsely, dropping her head onto my shoulder. "I have to go."

"No!" I cried, shaking my head. "No, you don't. Don't go. Please?"

"Brittany, we've been through this. I'm doing this for us. It's nothing I haven't done before; I'll be fine. I love you. You know I have to do this."

I sighed and nodded. Even more determined than before. "I know San. And I love you, more than anything. So you have to know that I can't let you do this, I'll do it instead."

Before my words even registered, I shoved her further into the closet and stepped out, shutting and locking the door behind me. For good measure, I slid a chair under the handle of the door to keep it from turning.

"Brittany!" I heard her screaming from inside the closet and pounding on the door. "Brittany, no, don't you do this! You let me out of here! Brittany!"

I leaned my forehead against the door as she banged on it from the other side, feeling the vibration. "I love you Santana." I said softly before I turned to leave.

Santana continued to bang on the door and I was almost afraid it wouldn't stand against her; nothing else could ever stand up against my girl for long. But as an almost feral scream ripped from her throat and a resounding thud was heard against the door, I knew she had flung her whole body against it to try to break it down. If it didn't give way then, I was certain it wouldn't. I nodded in satisfaction as she continued to pound the door and moved toward the hallway.

I shut the door to the choir room behind me to hopefully muffle her cries. I straightened my spine and made my way to the boys' locker room.

xxxx

Karofsky was pacing in the locker room when I arrived; his back was to me. At the sound of my entrance, he spun to face me. His disappointment was clear as soon as he realized I wasn't Santana.

"What are you doing here?" He asked frowning.

I felt my courage melting but I cleared my throat and tried to appear confident like Santana had taught me.

"I'm changing the…arrangement. You won't touch Santana. You can have me instead, or nothing at all. We both know Santana wouldn't let you do what you really want to anyway." I felt a small spark of pride at how my voice didn't waver.

"Oh yeah?" He sneered. "And just what won't Santana let me do? If I remember correctly, I'm the one calling the shots here."

I shrugged slightly. "Anything you want. You know Santana would never let you get rough…well…I won't stop you. Santana could take you if she wanted and we both know it. I can't, I know that. So you can do whatever you want and I won't be able to stop you."

Karofsky stepped closer to me and looked me up and down. He didn't quite have the look of appreciation he had whenever he looked at Santana, or Quinn even, but it was enough to make my hands shake. He kept advancing on me and before I realized it, I was pinned to the lockers with him flush against me.

"Yeah, ok." He said, almost breathlessly. "But since you changed the arrangement, so am I. You're my bitch indefinitely."

My brow furrowed as I tried to think of what "indefinitely" meant. My confusion must have shown on my face because Karofsky laughed.

"It means, retard, that meeting just once ain't gonna cut it. You'll come to me any time I want, as many times as I want. And you'll keep it quiet from your bitch bodyguard. Otherwise, the deal is off and I'll take what I want from her and expose you two dykes."

My stomach dropped. I would have to meet him again; I hadn't planned on that. Keeping Santana from being exposed would be worth it though and I nodded my agreement.

Unfortunately, the next few minutes were not blurred at all. He clumsily pawed at my clothing until I was the one exposed, on the cold tile locker room floor. I whimpered in pain as he first entered me. He seemed to get a thrill out the sound and didn't bother being gentle as he pumped in and out of me.

As he grunted and began to sweat, I once again let my mind wander as I did anytime my father came into my room. I thought of Santana. I thought of our first time, how she clung to me. I thought of our most recent time, all smiles and soft touches. I thought about curling up with her arms around me after and her soft, warm breath on my skin.

My lack of attention to his valiant efforts did not go unnoticed. "Are you thinking about her?" He panted. "Don't think about her when you're with me bitch."

Oddly enough, the biting sting of the slap across my face didn't register as much as the sound did. It echoed throughout the locker room. Again, he seemed to get a thrill out of the sound of my whimper and by the time he was finished with me, my lip was split and bleeding and I had handprints on various parts of my body. There was also an aching pain between my legs that was unfortunately familiar.

Karofsky pulled himself up and adjusted his clothing. Before he left he kicked my Cheerio's uniform toward me. "I'll be in touch for our next little get together." He said scoffing. And then he was gone.

I was still for a few moments after he left. Looking back, I suppose I was in shock. But then I thought of caramel skin and soft brown eyes and I slowly dressed. I didn't feel as empty when I remembered I had done this for her. I did this for love. I would keep Santana safe from him.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N – Enter Quinn. For purposes of this story, she is not pregnant. This chapter deals with sexual abuse and self-harm. Nothing too graphic but you have been warned. Thanks for the alerts and reviews and just for sticking with me in general. Oh and I don't own anything related to Glee.

xxxx

"Brittany! No, no no no! _Fuck!_"

When Santana appeared in front of me, I was still crouched in the boys' locker room but I had at least managed to dress myself. She knelt down in front of me with her shaking hands hovering just beside my cheeks as if she was afraid to actually touch me. I looked up at her and tried to smile, further splitting my already bleeding lip. I then realized that she wasn't alone. Quinn was behind her, wide eyed and looking worried, and quite honestly a little sick.

"Hi San. Hi Quinn." I slurred softly.

Santana gently settled a hand on my cheek and ran a thumb over my split lip and I swore I saw tears in her eyes. And pure rage. Apparently Quinn had returned to the choir room after forgetting a book and had come across Santana screaming in the closet. Santana couldn't even tell Quinn what was happening, she just barreled down the hallway trying to reach me. Once they did find me, I don't think Quinn really needed much explanation but I'm still not entirely certain when Santana filled her in on the details.

To say their friendship was strained would be an understatement. Both were trying to be the top bitch, head cheerleader and there was only room for one. They were always trying to one up each other but had to appear civil to bystanders. Santana and Quinn were close growing up but had grown apart as every aspect of their lives was pitted against each other once high school arrived. I missed our times together. But here they were, both scrambling to come to my aid, differences cast aside.

Before I could really wrap my brain around what was happening, Santana and Quinn were helping me into Santana's car. I don't remember walking from the locker room to the parking lot but I can't imagine I was doing much on my own volition. They immediately informed me that they were taking me to the hospital but when I began to cry and begged them not to, Santana reluctantly drove to her house just to calm me down and curb the imminent panic attack.

They fretted over me, trying to convince me to go to the hospital but I just became more frantic when they mentioned it. Santana even tried to get me to agree to see her dad. He's a doctor. But that didn't make me feel any better. In the end, Quinn drew a bath and Santana helped me in and out of the tub. Her jaw clenched when she caught sight of the bruises forming.

I just sat there huddled in the water and shaking. I jumped when I felt firm arms wrap around me and felt a cry bubbling up in my throat.

"Shh, it's me Britt." Santana whispered. "It's just me. I've got you. I've got you now baby. You're safe. Everything is going to be fine baby."

I relaxed into her arms as she pulled me flush against her front. Santana gently began to help me wash myself. Honestly she did most of the work; I was too drained and numb to do much of anything more than just sit there and try to pull in another breath. When she pulled away and lifted herself out of the tub, the cold and loss of her comfortable presence hit me.

When she helped dry me off and dress me in an extra set of pajamas, she was so careful with me. Almost like she was afraid I would break. And then she silently took my hand and led me to her bed. Quinn stood off the side biting her lip nervously. I fell asleep between my two friends, Santana with her arms firmly circling my waist and flush against my back, Quinn softly humming with her arms wrapped around us both.

They stayed with me even when I woke up whimpering in the night. I dreamed of both my father and Karofsky coming into the room. But it wasn't just me they were hurting, they were also hurting Santana. But she and Quinn both held me and shushed me when I awoke. They didn't leave and I was certain they loved me.

xxxx

When I awoke again, sunlight was streaming into the room and Quinn's spot on the bed was empty. Santana was still molded to my back and holding me tightly. She must have sensed I was awake.

"Hey B." She whispered, stroking my hand with her thumb where our hands were still clasped around my belly.

I shifted slightly and turned so I could see her. Her smile was sweet but the worry was clear in her eyes. Clear to me anyway. Someone else might not have noticed but I knew my Santana. She was worried. She was worried about me and I hated that I had caused her distress. But I had to. She had to understand that I was just as protective of her as she was of me.

"San," I croaked, turning more so I was fully facing her. "Please don't be mad at me."

The look on Santana's face cut me to the bone. Her lip began to tremble and her eyes welled with tears. She scooted forward so that our foreheads were touching and cupped my face gently.

"B, I'm not mad at you. I'm not mad at anyone but Karofsky. And myself for not realizing what you were up to. I shouldn't have let you do this. And I swear to you, he will never touch you again. Do you understand me B? I'm going to kill him. I swear I am going to murder him."

I knew she would. From the look in her eyes, I knew Santana was going to kill Karofsky, or be killed herself trying. I shook my head frantically.

"No! No, San, you can't! I won't let you! They'll take you away from me! I did this to protect you, to keep you safe and you can't go and ruin that, please! I locked you in a closet to keep you away from him, don't think I won't again! I'll kill him myself San; I swear I will. They, they can lock me up forever; I don't care! I won't live if you're taken from me San, I can't!"

I was losing control. I knew it and I could tell Santana knew it too. She quickly wrapped her arms around me and I buried my head in her shoulder.

"Ok, all right baby. All right. It's ok. I'm sorry B. I didn't mean to upset you." She was trembling as she held me. I was sobbing then.

"Please, don't leave me! Please San, don't leave me alone." I knew if I didn't calm down and control myself everything would come spilling out. Everything from my parents leaving me alone to raise myself, to my father's visits whenever he was actually home. She knew about Karofsky, that was enough.

"I'm not going anywhere Brittany, I promise." She whispered softly as she stroked her fingers through my hair.

When I was calm again, I noticed Quinn had slipped back into the bed and was again holding us both. She's a quiet one that Quinn. And just as protective as Santana in her own way.

We all three missed school that day. They both pressed me to talk to them but I remembered Karofsky's threat. I didn't want him going after Santana and exposing us. He would do it too; I knew he would. I tried to hold out and keep quiet, I really did. But Santana was almost begging me to tell her if he had threatened me. She said she just needed to know what we were dealing with so she'd know better how to help and protect me. I can never say no to Santana.

So, I told them of Karofsky's new arrangement, that if anything were said about what he'd done to me, he'd still expose our secret. And that he expected me to meet with him again. I almost felt less guilty hiding what was happening with my father after telling the full truth about Karofsky. Santana sat with her jaw clenched and nostrils flaring. If Quinn was surprised to hear the extent of our relationship, she didn't show it. I think she probably knew all along.

Santana and Quinn decided that if I wouldn't go to the hospital or to the police, they were at the very least telling Coach Sylvester. She would know what to do. She would know a way to protect me from Karofsky. He had injured one of her best Cheerios after all; she would definitely be out for revenge or something. One of her secret Special Forces friends would break his kneecap or something. I was afraid she wouldn't act before Karofsky made good on his threat and that everything I had done to protect Santana wouldn't mean anything. And again, I really couldn't say no to Santana.

So, that evening we drove to the school and watched until the Cheerios practice ended. Apparently with three of her star Cheerios missing, Coach was on a rampage and the cheerleaders hobbled away at the end of practice. I immediately decided telling Coach was a bad idea. But then I saw Karofsky's truck in the distance and felt Santana's hand slip into my own giving it a firm but gentle squeeze. I silently followed Santana and Quinn into Coach's office.

Coach took one look at my split lip and bruised face and silently motioned for us to sit down. By the time our tale was through, Coach Sylvester's face had shown more emotion than I could ever remember seeing. Santana had done most of the talking and I could only nod when Coach directly asked me a question. Santana kept my hand grasped firmly in her own, and Quinn kept a hand on my shoulder.

Coach Sylvester said we did the right thing in coming to her. She offered to call the police herself but when another panic attack began to seize me, Coach agreed that the less attention brought to the situation the better. She promised to handle things but didn't say how it would be done. In a strange way, we all trusted her to help us. More like I trusted Santana and she seemed convinced that we could trust Coach so that was enough for me.

We returned to Santana's house that evening and we stayed at her house again the following day. She said Coach would understand if we missed another practice and it wasn't as if I needed to worry about falling behind in classes. I couldn't remember the last time I had really tried to learn anything. My spot on the Cheerios pretty much guaranteed me passing grades.

Santana just held me and I slept most of the day. Quinn went to school as usual and called us later that evening. Karofsky had been shipped off to some military school in Idaho and Coach Sylvester seemed convinced he would be on the front lines in some desert in the Middle East by the end of the week. It certainly was not what we expected but he was gone nonetheless, and gone in a way that only Coach Sylvester could arrange.

Santana and I returned to school after one more day out. I was terrified as we approached the doors to the school. Santana held my hand firmly and gave me a small smile as we pushed our way down the halls. I received quite a few questioning looks. We had tried to cover the bruises with extra makeup but my split lip was difficult to disguise. Santana was viciously protective all day and shoved more than a few people out of our way. Quinn even snapped at the kids in Glee club when they began to get a little too bold with their questions. She and Santana just passed it off as a typical "Brittany" incident and no one seemed to question it after that.

Santana and I began to spend most nights together again. She was pretty close to her parents, her mother especially, even after they had split up. So her mother could tell something was up but didn't question when I would sit silently huddled in their living room and then follow Santana upstairs. For the first few weeks I was terrified of letting Santana out of my sight. She asked once if I needed her to call my parents. I tried to ignore her surprised look when I told her I didn't know where they were and hadn't seen them since the night before the Karofsky incident. She didn't push it further. She simply held me in her arms night after night.

It was nice, feeling as if I had someone who actually wanted to help carry the burden I was struggling under. I wanted to tell Santana everything, I did. But I decided that I would accept her support with the Karofsky thing and pretend it covered all my troubles. It was enough for a while.

I couldn't understand why I was having so much trouble coping with Karofsky when I had been forced by my father multiple times over the course of multiple years. And I really was proud of myself for protecting Santana. But I was drowning, I was certain of it. I only hoped I didn't drag Santana down with me. My sacrifice would have been for nothing if I caused Santana further pain and I couldn't allow that. I loved her and you protect the ones you love.

xxxx

It was few months or so after Karofsky and I was again spending the night with Santana. I had fallen asleep with her wrapped protectively around me but when my eyes cracked open sometime in the middle of the night, I immediately felt her absence and the chill against my back.

I stayed completely still while my eyes adjusted to the darkness. It wasn't long before an almost imperceptible sniffling reached my ears. I rolled over quietly and felt my heart clench at the sight of Santana curled into a ball and crying quietly. She was biting down on her finger to keep from waking me with her sobs.

I inched closer to her wrapped her in my arms. She stiffened.

"Please San." I whispered. "Let me hold you for once. Please?"

I held her as she finally let herself cry. Santana wasn't known for saying things like "thank you" or "I'm sorry" to anyone but as her sobs began to fade I could make out her plea for forgiveness over and over. It hit me then, she felt guilty. I had tried to protect her and keep her safe and while I honestly did what I thought was best, I still only managed to cause her pain. It had to stop. I had to be ok. Somehow, I had pull myself together.

"San?"

"Yeah B?" she asked, turning in my arms so that we were facing each other.

"You don't have to worry about me." I said firmly. "I'm ok. And I wouldn't do anything differently. He's gone and as long as he can't hurt you, he can't hurt me. So don't cry. Don't be upset. Don't you see, as long as I have you and you're ok, I'm ok. I'm going to be ok San."

I leaned in then and pressed my lips to her forehead. I don't know if Santana really believed what I said or if she just wanted to. I don't know if she thought I was already healing nicely or if in my obliviousness I had already forgotten, but she smiled and seemed calmer. And that was all that mattered.

We made love that night for the first time since Karofsky. Looking back, it was clearly too soon and I was in no way ready to be intimate again but I needed to show her I could still be myself around her. I tried to block out the images of Karofsky and focus on Santana. The girl I loved was making love to me. Her touch was so tender and gentle I wanted to cry at the beauty of it. Her touch was healing. And as we caught our breath and held each other tightly, I could only hope she felt as loved as I did in that moment.

xxxx

As I've said numerous times, and it should be quite obvious, I've never been particularly smart. But my spacey personality isn't all just my lack of intelligence. Disassociation is the word the psychology people use I think. As I mentioned, apparently from the time my father began coming into my room as a child, I began to let my mind wander to make the time easier. It seemed perfectly normal but after the Karofsky thing, it began to happen more and more often.

I became even more spacey and off the wall as high school wore on. Even though Karofsky was gone, my father was home more often now as the inheritance began to run low. Even though he hurt me night after night, I couldn't bring myself to hate him. Maybe it was because he always cried after. Karofsky didn't cry.

The first night he came to my room after my meeting with Karofsky was the first night he left me in tears since I was a child. It was the first time I hadn't been able to block him out and I was painfully aware of his every move and touch. I wanted to call Santana, to have her come comfort me but I knew I couldn't. I was still trying to convince her that I was moving on and doing ok and if I called her in that state, I was afraid that I'd end up spilling about my father. I needed Santana to continue to believe I was coping. Which meant I had to actually go back to my house from time to time.

We tried to carry on normally; everyone thought it would be best. Only Santana, Quinn, Coach Sylvester and I knew what had happened. And Karofsky of course, wherever he was. No one else suspected a thing. We were still the three top Cheerios and seemingly on top of the world. We were so normal in fact, that Santana went back to Puck. After everything, she went back to him. It felt like a knife twisting in my gut but I couldn't complain really, she still always came back to me too. And she insisted that I was the one she loved, not Puck. And I knew she still worried about me and the strain was beginning to show. I was draining and if Puck helped ease her worries, I couldn't complain. Not out loud anyway.

I tried to control my emotions but it was getting harder all the time. The first time I cut myself, it was purely by accident. I was helping Santana's mother in the kitchen which was a disaster waiting to happen really. She asked me to chop some vegetables or something and before I knew it, I had sliced my thumb and blood was dripping.

At her mother's exclamation, Santana came running and they helped clean up the mess and bandage my thumb. Mrs. Lopez said she didn't think stitches were necessary and quickly shooed me out of the kitchen to avoid further incident. I vividly remember feeling the blade slice into my skin. I remember seeing the blood surface and then begin to drip. But mostly, I remember my scattered thoughts and emotions going still and calm. I had never felt so calm before; it was as if the world around me slowed and I could catch my breath. Sure, my thumb hurt, but in that moment, nothing else did. I gave Santana the first genuine smile she had seen since the whole Karofsky thing started. And the smile I received in return from her reminded me again; everything I had done for her was more than worth it, because I had done it for love.

xxxx

I was seventeen when my mother left my father. She left him for some traveling salesman. It was quite ridiculous really, the middle-aged housewife running off with a man she met on her doorstep selling vacuum cleaners or encyclopedias or shoes or something. My father was crushed and unfortunately I was his only source of comfort.

He somehow found out that I had in fact had sex with other people, I'm not sure how. He seemed almost hurt and my father became even more aggressive and the nights he didn't come to my room were few and far between. It was almost as if he was jealous. I was sick every morning before going to school and my usually form fitting Cheerio's uniform began to sag. Normally Coach Sylvester would praise us for weight loss but at our weekly weigh-ins, she would simply clench her jaw and record my new numbers. She never yelled at me and she yelled at everyone. But she never asked how I was doing. My performance wasn't suffering so why would she.

My little habit of cutting myself became an almost nightly event during this time. While the feel of the blade slipping through my skin still calmed my mind and emotions for a time, my tolerance was building and I found I needed to do it more and cut deeper each time. By the end of my junior year my stomach was riddled with scars. I had to be careful not to cut where anyone could see and with the ever-shortening length of our Cheerios skirts, I wasn't left with very many options. I quit showering in the Cheerios locker room and became intensely guarded with my body.

My nights with Santana were also few and far between. We were still close of course but I kept finding excuses for why she couldn't come over. When we were actually together, always at her home, I refused to take my shirt off and she didn't question. I suppose she felt she was being supportive and that it was just an after effect of my incident with Karofsky. As hard as I tried to appear as though everything was fine and I was fine, occasionally I would break down. But Santana was my safe place, just as I had been for her. I just had to make sure it didn't happen often. I didn't want to scare her.

I could tell Santana missed me even though she was spending more and more time with Puck. I desperately wanted her to ignore my excuses and slip into my room every night, or better yet, catch my father when he came in so that maybe, just maybe she would be able to save me from him too. But she stayed away.

Even Quinn seemed to distance herself. I don't think she knew what to do. She and Santana stayed close to me all during school hours but we never talked about Karofsky. To the rest of the glee kids I was just my normal crazy self even if I was even more mentally absent than ever before. I wanted one of them, someone, to confront me, to ask me what was going on. Mostly I wanted Santana to be the one to come to my rescue and pull me out of whatever pit I could feel myself slipping into but she was not a mind reader and she was at a loss for how to help me. I ached for her but couldn't tell her.

After the rare instances that we were together I would sometimes cry quietly and she would hold me in her arms. Sometimes she would cry with me. But she never pushed me to talk. And I never brought any of my issues up to her; I was convinced she still had enough of her own problems to deal with. But I was slowly dying and trying desperately to hide it from her.

xxxx

I'm not sure what caused me to hit my breaking point. I don't know if it was my father coming into my room every night for three weeks straight or the news that Karofsky had gotten some kind of great medal of honor or valor or whatever. Or maybe it was the stress of Nationals looming for both Glee and the Cheerios. Or maybe it was the fact that Santana and I hadn't spent a single night together in almost a month. I honestly don't know.

All I remember is that one night when I was supposed to be at Rachel's house for some Glee practice I was crouched on the floor in the Cheerio's locker room with a razor in my hand and my leg bleeding profusely. I couldn't even care that I was ruining my appearance and that Coach Sylvester would not be pleased.

That day after practice when Santana left with Puck, I just couldn't take it any more and I remained behind. I crumbled almost immediately as soon as I was left alone. I wasn't aware of how much time passed but apparently when I didn't show up to Rachel's, they began to worry. Santana was almost frantic and she insisted that the glee kids set out in search of me.

While Santana decided to head to the park where I like to feed the ducks, Quinn headed back to the school to see if I had remained behind after Cheerio's practice. She found me huddled on the floor, my hand shaking as the razor hovered over my already bleeding leg.

"Oh my God, Brittany." She whispered. She crouched next to me and wrapped her trembling hand around my own. "Sweetheart, give me the razor."

I remember looking up into her soft eyes and seeing the worry and compassion. I remembered that night that she held Santana and me after they brought me home from the incident with Karofsky. I couldn't get my brain to cooperate and form words so I simply allowed her to take the razor from my hand and she threw it viciously across the locker room.

"Brittany," she said softly, trying to break me out of my stupor, "how long has this been going on? Brittany? Sweetheart talk to me."

I could only whimper as I cried out once for Santana. Quinn kept a hand on me as she whipped out her phone and dialed our friend.

"Yes, I found her. She's in the Cheerio's locker room. She needs you Santana. _Hurry!_"

The next few minutes were a blur as Quinn tried to wrap towels around my leg to stop the bleeding. I couldn't do anything more than sit there crying, dazed. And then the door was thrown open and Santana came rushing in, hair wild around her face and her jaw clenched tightly.

She stumbled over to me, her eyes widening in shock at the sight of the blood that was dripping down my leg and pooling underneath me. "Brittany?"

And just like that, I was in her arms and being rocked as she whispered into my hair. I have no idea what she said but I felt safe. I was safe.

Santana and I finally pulled apart but she kept her arms around me. "I'm so sorry B. I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have left you alone. I said I wouldn't and I did. I should have paid more attention to you. God, I'm so sorry."

I just mumbled into her shoulder that it was fine; I was really fine. I couldn't meet her eyes. I can't say for certain but I'm pretty sure the fact that I couldn't look at her added to her guilt. She cried. Santana doesn't cry in front of anyone but I've lost count of the times she's cried in front of me, for me, and I hated it. I hated I drove her to what she considered a sign of weakness yet again.

"B?" Quinn said softly off to the side. I'd forgotten she was even there. "Why don't you let us to take you home?"

And just with those soft-spoken words, I shattered.

"No!" I screamed, startling them both. I shoved at them trying to clamber to my feet and break away from them. I couldn't go back there, ever. I wouldn't. I was to the point that I would rather dig the razor into my wrist and sever every artery and vein there than go back to my father.

"Brittany?" Santana asked, stunned. She was quick on her feet and was reaching for me before my muddled mind could convince my legs to do more than shake.

"I said no! I won't go back there! I'm not! I can't!" As I spun to bolt for the door, pain shot through the leg that I had just mangled and it gave way underneath me. I fell back to the floor with an anguished cry and again, Santana threw her arms around me and pulled me into her lap, whispering softly.

"Ok, ok B." Santana said quietly. "You'll come home with me. And you can stay there as long as you want. I have fucked up enough Brittany. You need me and from here on out, I'm here for you, I'm yours. I'm going to take care of you. I'm yours B. I love you. I am so fucking sorry Brittany! I'm so sorry."

Her words registered but only barely. It was exactly what I wanted to hear but in the back of my mind I saw her leaving me again every time Puck called for her. I saw her shrugging off my touches in school. I saw her leaving me alone, with my father. I curled further into myself and put my hands over my ears. I rocked back and forth slightly, mumbling intelligibly.

"Britt? Please look at me."

I released a shaky breath and finally raised my eyes. Santana cradled my face in her hands and thumbed my tears away. She was no longer crying and in her eyes I saw not only worry and compassion, but also sincerity.

"I know I haven't given you any reason to lately, but please Brittany, please trust me." She whispered.

At my timid nod, Santana gave a pained smile and pressed her lips to my forehead. Quinn slid closer to us and again placed a comforting hand on both of us.

Santana and Quinn helped me to my feet and with one on either side of me; I limped out of the locker room to Santana's car. Quinn had sent a text to the rest of the glee kids to tell them that I was on my way to Santana's. If they pressured for information, she didn't show it. I felt so small and helpless. But for the first time in longer than I could remember, as we pulled into Santana's driveway, I knew I was safe and I honestly wanted nothing more than to fall asleep without having to listen for the creak of my bedroom door.

xxxx

Santana's mom gave us startled looks as we entered the home. She looked me up and down; taking in my pale, tear streaked face and my bloody hands and legs and made a move to approach us. Santana gave her a pleading look that stopped her in her tracks. Mrs. Lopez was a fairly well known attorney in town. She could totally have given that hot Latina judge on the People's Court a run for her money but she was happy in real estate. But she had great connections and that would serve to help me later.

She gave Santana a questioning look but their relationship was a remarkable one. She just nodded and slipped back into her den, confident Santana would find her before too long and explain.

Much like the night of the Karofsky incident, Quinn ran a bath for me while Santana simply sat holding me. When the bath was ready, I was terrified. They were both standing there waiting for me to undress and slip into the tub but taking off my uniform would reveal the multitude of scars riddling my torso and hips. I was ashamed.

"Um…can you guys turn around?" I said in my typical monotone voice. Both narrowed their eyes in my direction, Santana even quirked a brow.

"B…"

"Please?" I whispered, dropping my head. I stood there, my bottom lip between my teeth and unable to meet their worried gazes.

Santana stepped closer, tentatively placing her hand on my arm. "Why B? Is it because you don't want us to see more scratches?"

They were far from scratches but even I could tell she was attempting to put me at ease by making me think it wasn't as big a deal to show them as I thought. She's so smart my Santana. I nodded slowly, eyes still on the floor.

"I'll um, leave you two alone." Quinn said softly as she slipped out of the bathroom, shutting the door behind her.

Santana lifted my chin, searching for my gaze. "Please, B. It's all going to be ok. I'm going to take care of you, I promise. Let me see you, please? I promise I won't leave you again and there's nothing you can show me or tell me that will make me love you any less. B?"

I scratched my neck absent-mindedly and gave a small nod. I slowly unzipped and peeled my baggy uniform away, revealing my marred skin. Many cuts had already scarred but some were fresh and scabbed. To Santana's credit, she didn't cringe or curse or run out. She just bit her lip and clenched her jaw before stepping even closer to me and wrapping her arms around me.

She helped me out of my undergarments and into the tub. While I sat huddled in the water, arms wrapped around my knees, Santana bathed me and washed my hair, much like she had the night with Karofsky. And she sang to me. Santana had the most beautiful voice. Mr. Schuester should totally have given her more solos in Glee.

After I was cleaned up Santana again helped me out of the tub. She wrapped me in a warm towel drying me off. She steered me to sit on the edge of the tub while she rummaged around the medicine cabinet for something to put on my raw leg. She knelt before me and looked up at me with questioning eyes. I shrugged and nodded and she began bandaging my wounds.

A soft knock on the door sounded and Quinn asked if she could come in. I nodded again and Santana called for her. Quinn slipped in and was holding sweatpants and a t-shirt for me to wear. I hugged the towel tighter to my body, keeping my eyes on Santana's hands as she finished her task.

Quinn stepped closer, holding up the sweatpants for me to step into. I again kept my eyes to the ground as I put first one foot in and then the other, still clutching the towel around my waist and chest.

"B." Santana said softly. She reached for one of my hands. I hadn't realized I was holding the towel so tightly my knuckles had turned white and I was shaking, my breaths coming in short raspy, gasps. "It's just Quinn, we're the unholy trinity remember? You don't have to hide anything from either of us."

"That's right B." Quinn said holding the t-shirt. "I'm your friend too, I'm not going anywhere. I love you…but not quite like Santana does."

Santana snorted and I chuckled. I actually laughed a little. And then I remembered everything that was so fucking wrong with my life and my laugh turned to sobs. Body wracking, heart wrenching sobs.

I don't actually remember how I ended up curled on the bed, in the t-shirt, my head in Santana's lap as she ran her fingers through my hair. Quinn was beside us, a hand resting on my leg. I don't know how long they let me cry. When my sobs turned to nothing more than whimpers, Santana took a deep breath and lifted me to an almost sitting position.

"Britt," she said cautiously. "We have to talk about this. Please, tell us what's going on. We want to help you. How long has this been happening?"

I wiped a hand across my face. It was still wet with tears and my nose was running. I was a disgusting mess. Quinn reached and wiped at my eyes and nose with her sleeve. Santana scooted closer and wrapped her arms around my waist, her chin resting on my shoulder.

"Um…since that day I was helping your mom in the kitchen and I cut my thumb." I said softly, still unable to meet either of their gazes. Santana tensed. That had been months ago. Six months to be exact.

"I'm sorry." She whispered. "I'm so sorry B. I should have noticed. This whole thing is my fault and you should not have to be dealing with this alone. I wish Karofsky would come back from wherever the fuck he is so I can castrate him."

"I don't know what that means." I mumbled. "It's not your fault San."

"It's Dave's fault." Quinn said softly. "But that's not what's important right now. Brittany, you can't keep doing this. Sweetheart, you can't keep hurting yourself like this. We want to help but maybe you need to talk to someone, like a professional. Maybe Miss Pillsbury has a pamphlet or something. Or maybe your dad knows a counselor."

At the mention of my father I felt a familiar hand closing around my throat, I couldn't breathe. I was panicking again and my breaths came in short gasps. Before I could control myself I was clawing at the bandage on my leg. Santana and Quinn both grabbed for my hands to stop me before I could inflict any further damage.

"Britt! Stop!" Santana cried trying to hold me still. "It's ok, stop, everything is fine B! Please!"

It was then that Quinn went deathly still.

"B? Why don't you want to go home? Is there something going on in your house? Is someone hurting you?"

I don't know how Quinn figured it out. I tried so hard to keep it a secret. But when she was sitting there staring at me with her wide hazel eyes and squeezing my hand, I just couldn't lie to her. I couldn't find the words so I just nodded and looked anywhere but at Santana who went rigid next to me.

"B?" San asked. "What do you mean someone is hurting you? Who's hurting you? Brittany?"

"Um…my dad." I whispered, still not meeting their eyes.

"Brittany." Santana breathed. "Oh God, no. Tell me he's not…Not this, anything but this. This isn't fair, it isn't fucking fair!"

Then Santana was firmly gripping my face in her hands, forcing me to look at her. "I love you." She said hoarsely. "I love you Brittany. You know that right? I love you. Please talk to us, don't shut us out. Don't shut _me_ out."

I broke again. I spent the next very tense few minutes telling my story. I told Santana and Quinn everything from when my father first came to my room; to the time my parents left me alone for weeks to fend for myself; to how my father came looking for me almost every night since my mother left.

I told them about the cutting and how it helped if for only a few minutes. It took a bit of convincing that I really wasn't attempting suicide, I was just trying to ease the pain a little. I told them everything. By the end of it, Quinn was crying silently and Santana was trembling in rage. She began spitting a string of curse words in that foreign language she and Mr. Schuester know. But they didn't leave. They stayed with me through another long night.

Although, at some point in the night I awoke to soft whispers coming from the en suite bathroom. I could make out Santana's muffled sobs and Quinn whispering.

"She couldn't tell me! Her father has been hurting her for years and she couldn't fucking tell me! Oh God, I'm so sorry. I've done nothing but hurt her; I let her down Quinn. I should have protected her! She's-she's so innocent! How could he? How could I not know?"

"Santana," Quinn replied insistently, "Listen to me. You know now. And the important thing is what you do now. She trusted us to tell us about this and we have to be there for her. Beating yourself up isn't going to help her. Brittany loves you and I'm pretty sure one reason she never told you is because she wanted to protect you. You know she loves you."

"I know. I know and I love her too!" Santana cried. "And I'm going to make this up to her. I'm going to be so there for her that she's going to get sick of me. Brittany has to be ok. She will be, I'll make sure of it. We can fix this."

It was quiet for a few seconds until I heard Santana continue. "Come on, let's get back in there. I don't want her waking up alone."

I never told Santana that I heard them that night. I pretended to still be asleep when they crawled back into bed but I immediately curled up closer to her. I like to think I was comforting her just as much as she was comforting me.

xxxx

The next morning when my cell phone began to vibrate and my home number was displayed, Santana just held me tighter and Quinn tossed the phone away, much as she had done with the razor the night before in the locker room.

And when their doorbell rang later in the day and my father's voice sounded from the foyer, Santana was out the door and racing towards him before we could stop her. Quinn and I followed and by the time we reached the downstairs foyer, Santana's mother was trying to pull her off of my father.

His nose was bleeding and she had pinned him to the door. In the midst of her snarling rage, I could make out a few of the curse words she taught me in her special language. I also heard her threatening to remove certain body parts if he ever touched me again. My father was frozen against the door until he saw that Quinn and I had joined Mrs. Lopez and Santana who was still struggling against her mother's hold. I felt a shiver run down my spine when our eyes met.

"Pumpkin?" he asked, an unreadable expression on his face. He reached a hand toward me and Santana snapped again while Quinn pulled me firmly against her side.

"Oh fuck no!" Santana cried and once again tried to throw herself at him. "You don't get to touch her. You don't get to talk to her. You don't get to think about her! You sick fuck! She's your daughter; she was just a _kid_! How could you?"

I think Mrs. Lopez got the idea of what was going on at that point. She quickly reached for a phone and shoved Santana behind her. "You get the hell out of my house Stanley before I call the police."

"Brittany, baby, come on home." He tried again reaching for me. "You're upset, come home and we'll talk about it. You don't want to leave me home all alone do you baby?" His voice was beginning to hint at an edge of panic settling in and his eyes were darting back and forth rapidly.

Mrs. Lopez had shoved him out of the door and had it locked behind him before my foggy, shocked brain could form a reaction other than cowering by Quinn's side. Santana returned to my side once he was outside.

"Never again baby," she cooed, running a hand through my hair and stroking my face continually. "He's never going to hurt you again, I promise. I promise Brittany."

When I looked up, Mrs. Lopez was watching us with a pained expression. "Oh, Dios mio." She whispered. She stepped in front of me and with Quinn and Santana on either side of me; she wrapped her arms around all three of us.

Many tissues later, Mrs. Lopez finally separated herself from our position on the couch where we had all been crying. She told me she would help me, that I was safe, and that I could stay with them for as long as I needed. With a squeeze to Santana's shoulder, Mrs. Lopez retreated to her study to begin the legal process to keep my father away from me forever.

xxxx

I don't know all the details. I just know that Mrs. Lopez called every attorney in town she knew to help protect me. By the end of the day I had a restraining order against him and my legal guardianship was temporarily transferred to Mrs. Lopez herself.

My mother was called. Again, I don't know the details; I just know she didn't come running back to help me. In fact I think I've seen her maybe four times since she left. It's ok though. I like to pretend she didn't know what was going on under her own roof but even I'm not that naïve.

I was faced with the possibility of a long drawn out court battle if I decided to press criminal charges. I didn't think I could handle that. I couldn't get up in front of strangers and tell what he had done to me for years. We all understood that if a defense attorney pressured too much, I could easily get confused on the stand and who knew what could happen.

So again, Mrs. Lopez came to the rescue. Somehow, and to this day I don't know how, but she convinced, or maybe threatened, my father into giving up his parental rights. He agreed to never have contact with me ever again. I also like to pretend that this was his way of apologizing for all the pain he had caused, but again, I'm sure it had more to do with the embarrassment and backlash his reputation would suffer if anyone suspected he was involved in something like this. And the possibility of jail time if convicted.

And is it fair that my father wasn't really punished for what he had done to me all those years? No, just like it wasn't fair that Dave Karofsky wasn't other than being sent to the middle of a war zone. But much of life isn't fair but at least he was finally out of my life. And I had to make the best out of what life had dealt me.

And so, more than halfway through my senior year of high school, I officially moved in with Santana and her mother and tried desperately to put this chapter of my life behind me.

xxxx

Somehow, along with agreeing to stay away from me, my father also agreed to pay for any counseling and medication that might be necessary. Mr. Lopez had been contacted throughout this ordeal as well. He used his connections in the medical community to find the best psychologist in the area for me to meet with. It was all a very confusing and scary time for me.

I was shocked to find that there were medications to help deal with this disassociation thing they said I had developed. That was the first time I heard that word when I was explaining how I would separate myself from what was going on around me to make the time pass quicker. Apparently it was a normal occurrence for someone suffering through a traumatic experience. It was nice to know I wasn't crazy, as I had always assumed, along with most people around me.

There are also medications for things like posttraumatic stress syndrome and even for some learning disabilities. With the right dosages and regular counseling sessions, I found I could actually remember school assignments and class materials enough to receive legitimate passing grades all on my own. I was far from an A student even with the help but I was passing all on my own.

The day I voluntarily raised my hand to answer a question in Mr. Schuester's Spanish class and actually gave the correct answer, I'm not sure who was the proudest, Santana, who gave me a beaming smile and squeezed my hand, Mr. Schuester who told me that I was making excellent progress, or myself. It's the first time I remember answering anything correctly in any class.

The glee kids all found out what had happened. I assume Quinn had informed them but I don't know for certain. They originally seemed afraid to be around me, not certain how to act. One stinging lecture from Santana that they were to treat me normally or they'd have her to answer to seemed to set things back to rights pretty quickly. Rachel of course suggested we all sing through our emotions. It's just lucky Puck and Finn were finally able to pull Santana off of her before any real damage was done. After their initial awkward glances, they were nothing but supportive and Glee continued to be a cherished time for me. Apparently there were more people in my life who loved me than I ever imagined.

xxxx

I graduated from high school a few months after I was separated from my father. I was proud but still completely overwhelmed with everything that had happened to me. I wish I could say the rest of my journey was all smooth sailing and rainbows. But that just isn't realistic.

I had been abused repeatedly from the time I was ten years old and the pain and damage doesn't ever fully go away. There were still many nights that I woke up screaming and sweating and Santana, and sometimes her mother, would have to physically hold me down to keep me from harming myself in the middle of one of my night terrors. I still had the occasional relapse into cutting myself. Certain little things would set me off. But with the help of the counselors and Santana of course, I learned to express myself and what I was feeling with other methods than reaching for a razor. I learned I didn't have to bottle everything up and protect everyone around me. I was actually learning to take care of myself.

Santana had been accepted to a number of colleges. I hadn't even applied because before, the idea would have been crazy and now, I knew even with the progress I had made that college wasn't for me, at least not yet. She told me she would stay in Lima to be with me if I wanted but I knew there was no way I could allow her to sacrifice her future for me. So I timidly, and in all honesty, fearfully, suggested that maybe I could just follow her to whatever school she decided to attend.

"I could work somewhere and keep you company while you study. If you want I mean. I don't have to go with you if you don't want me to, I understand." I ended in a rush.

Santana just stood there with an almost dumbfounded look on her face. "You would do that? You would follow me to a new place, just to be with me?"

It was as if she had never considered that I would follow her even though following her was what I had done for the majority of my life. There was no question that Santana would have an apartment wherever she decided to attend school. Her parents were quite well off and between the two of them, paying her rent and tuition was no problem. I was afraid to intrude but I knew I had to be near Santana. I just hoped she would want me to follow one more time.

"I'd follow you anywhere San." I whispered. "And I wouldn't be a burden I promise. I'll take all my medication and go to all the counseling sessions; I'll be good. I'll help you study and I'll clean up after you and I-"

I didn't get to finish my sentence because Santana had engulfed me in a fierce embrace and pressed her lips to mine. I took that as an invitation to tag along to NYU with her. We came out to her mother that same night. Mrs. Lopez thanked us for telling her but with a smirk so much like her daughter's, informed us that she'd known since we were 15 due to the noises that often came from Santana's bedroom. I could have died from embarrassment. Until she stepped closer to us and wrapped her arms around her daughter and me and kissed us both on the cheek and said she loved us. Then I was pretty sure I could have died from happiness.

xxxx

I was 24 when Santana asked me to marry her. Life was going well. Quinn and even a few of the other glee kids had moved to New York City and we had all grown even closer over the years. Quinn was still our best friend and even lived with us for a time. Santana had been accepted to law school after graduating from NYU and the weekend before she proposed, she had just found out that she had passed the bar exam on the first try. We were ecstatic.

I had been teaching a youth dance class and she was going to be an attorney. We had moved into a nice apartment and I hadn't had a night terror in almost a year. We were happy; life was good.

I came home from my last dance class of the night to find the apartment dark except for candles lit everywhere throughout the apartment. Rose petals dropped on the floor led the way to our dining area where a table was set for two with more candles and more roses. And there was Santana waiting for me.

After a perfect dinner that I still swear she ordered up instead of cooking as she had insisted, she took my hand in hers and asked if I would spend the rest of my life with her. It was the easiest question I had ever been asked.

Six months later we were married. My family of course did not attend. But that was ok, our friends came and Santana's family came. Even most of our old glee friends came. I couldn't be sad that my own parents weren't there, not when we had so many people with us who loved us.

We wrote our own vows for the ceremony. I borrowed a few lines from a song I had come to love. By the end of our vows there weren't very many dry eyes in the place but for once, they were happy tears. It was everything I could have dreamed of and Santana was breathtaking. We've been married a few years now and I must say, I still wake up with a smile each and every morning because I get to wake up next to my best friend.

Has our life together been perfect? Of course not. Santana was well, Santana for quite a while in high school and I also made a lot of decisions that hurt the both of us. But looking back over the years, Santana has always been my constant and I honestly wouldn't change a thing. Because even with each and every twist and turn and up and down of our journey, it was still _our_ journey and if even one of those twists were to be removed, we may not have ended up here, together and happy. So no, there is nothing I would change. It's like the song says,

We did what we had to do. Won't forget, can't regret, what I did for love.

A/N – Well there it is. I truly appreciate those who read through the difficult subject matter. I was torn between two endings but reading back through it, I thought the poor gals deserved a happy ending. And the song mentioned at the end (and the story title…and basically inspiration for the story itself) is "What I did for Love" by Marvin Hamlisch and Edward Kleban. Thanks for reading.


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